


The Christmas Star

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 07:50:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1218322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first gift Javert was ever given.  Written as a Birthday Present for mrs_javert who requested Javert fluff!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Christmas Star

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrs_javert](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_javert/gifts).



Inspector Javert had finally sat down to remove the boots from his aching feet, when he heard a knock at his door. It was half past seven on Christmas Eve and while the Inspector had no plans for the evening, he was exhausted from a full day of patrols and several hours of writing reports. He sighed deeply, stood and smoothed his uniform, and made his way to the door.

“Well, what do you want?” he asked irritably. “It’s Sister Magdalen, Inspector.” He opened the door to face the venerable old nun. The tiny woman smiled radiantly and held a parcel wrapped in brown paper. His tone softened upon seeing the woman he considered a symbol of virtue and integrity.

“How may I be of assistance, Madame?”

“Please forgive the intrusion, Javert. I am sorry to disturb you on Christmas Eve.”

“No matter.” Javert kept his responses as short as possible to avoid the inevitable questions about why he was spending the holiday alone in his apartment. He was torn between propriety and courtesy and ultimately decided that to allow the sister to stand out in the drafty hall would be inappropriate.

He motioned her inside, bowing slightly. “Please come in, Sister.”

He pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and motioned for her to sit. He began to rummage through the cabinets, wondering what the devil one was supposed to offer a nun.

The sister watched him search, mild amusement on her pale face. “Don’t trouble yourself, Javert. I have to get back to the orphanage soon.”

“Forgive me. I am unaccustomed to receiving guests.” He sat down across from her, feeling intensely awkward. He fidgeted, his large frame feeling suddenly far too large for the chair. As unpracticed as he was at small talk, he was thankful that the sister did not seem to mind the silence. Thankfully, she rescued him from having to comment on trivialities like the weather.

“The children insisted that I deliver this before Christmas.” She held her parcel out to him and when he did not take it, she placed it on the table and slid it towards him.

“I don’t understand. What is it?” Javert lightly touched the paper wrapper as if he feared it would burn him.

“It’s a gift. It isn’t much, but the children wanted to thank you.”

Javert stared dumbfounded and asked “Thank me?”

“For catching the thief that stole from the orphanage and returning the money.”

 

_Javert remembered chasing the sly wretch through the back alleys of Montreuil, finally cornering him and pinning him to the ground so his pockets could be searched. A less honorable man might have kept the money and claimed that the thief was not in possession of it. Javert had landed particularly hard and sprained an ankle jumping over a fence in the pursuit. Javert’s ankle still pained him; yet his pride would not allow him to miss patrols, so he wrapped the swollen ankle in strips cut from an old shirt and bore the tightness of his boot without complaint. Once he deposited the rogue in the the prison; he limped back to the orphanage covered in mud and snow with his trousers ripped at the knees and his long, silver hair spilling from the neatly tied queue._

_His visit to the orphanage had been particularly discomfiting. Upon being escorted into the building by the Sister, he was confronted by forty pairs of wide eyes staring at him. The urchins huddled in a mass behind the sister or peered from between the bars on the staircase, their rags hanging loose on thin limbs. Some of them had tear tracks on their dirty faces; many were curious about the visitor, and more than a few were terrified of the big man carrying the large cudgel. He bowed stiffly to the sister and tried to return the stolen money as quickly as possible in order to extricate himself from the drab building and the haunted faces that triggered unpleasant memories of his childhood in the squalid cell in the Bagne._

_He recalled standing frozen as the sister clasped his hand and thanked him with tears in her eyes. “Bless you Inspector. You have saved us.”_

_Despite Javert releasing her hand as if jolted by an electric shock, the woman called the children to gather around her._

_“Children, this is the police officer that caught the thief who stole from our treasury. Say thank you to Inspector Javert.”_

_Javert rocked on his heels restlessly and said, “That is not necessary…”_

_A chorus of tiny voices thanked him in unison. A little girl who must have been about six years old with frizzy, matted blonde hair ran forward and threw her arms around his legs, nearly knocking the large man off his feet. He glanced down at the child disdainfully as if she were a serpent wrapped around him. Javert had no real use for children, and he didn’t understand why this one was currently latched onto him and burying her grubby face in his uniform. His body went rigid as he realized he had no idea how to dislodge the little girl. He attempted to grab the back of her collar thinking to lift her off when Sister Magdalen intervened, gently taking the child by the shoulders and guiding her away from the stunned inspector._

_“I’m so sorry, Inspector. The children aren’t used to having visitors.”_

_Other children were coming forward to stare at his uniform. A particularly brave little boy was touching the silver buttons on the bottom of his tailcoat. He brushed the child’s hands away and backed away towards the door._

_“Yes, well…I must get back to the station now.”_

_The inspector bowed stiffly then almost tripped over a toddler crawling on the floor near his feet. Javert had never been happier to reach the comforting solitude of his office._

 

The Sister cleared her throat, rousing Javert from his thoughts.

“Madame—I was simply performing my duty as an officer of the law. I cannot accept this.”

The sister did not remove the parcel. Instead, she patted Javert’s hand causing him to flinch at the sudden, unwelcome contact.

“There’s nothing in the regulations about an officer receiving a Christmas present.” She withdrew her hand and smiled again. “I’ll just leave this here for you. Merry Christmas, Inspector.”  She stood and Javert walked her to the door silently.

Once alone, he paced the room, casting an occasional sidelong glance at the package. He picked it up and shook it lightly, then set it back down. “I’ll return it tomorrow. It wouldn’t be right to keep it,” he whispered. Later that night, Javert tossed and turned; his fragmented thoughts refused to let him rest. Javert had never before received any sort of gift; although when he was in school, he often heard the other children talk of toy soldiers, new shoes, or sweets they were given on their Birthdays or holidays. For years, Javert doubted that he even had a birthday. He only learned the date when his mother had to write it in order to enroll him in school. He had never been visited by Father Christmas or Santa Claus.  Once, as a tiny child, he had naively placed his shoe on the barred window of his mother’s cell, hoping to find a small coin or a token like the children in school received. When he awoke, the empty shoe had been replaced beside his other one on the floor, and he knew that the stories were not real.

Finally, Javert’s curiosity prompted him to return to the kitchen and open the gift. Although he still felt that accepting the gift was wrong, he could no longer bear not knowing what the parcel contained. Javert’s heart raced in anticipation as he lifted the parcel. He stroked the paper with a long finger, pondering how to unwrap it. Finally, he tore the brown paper and folded back the edges.

Inside the parcel was a piece of paper sitting atop a simple wooden box. He picked up the paper and read it by the light of a candle. His expression twisted in confusion causing him to snarl. “What the devil is this?”

A child’s hand had drawn a picture of a brown, lopsided building. Standing next to the building was a triangle dressed in black that Javert guessed was Sister Magdalen. Beside her was a very tall stick figure in blue with large, round grey circles. Javert recognized the crude brown smudges as his queue and whiskers. At the bottom of the page, one of the children had written: Thank you, Inspektor Javer! He studied it a moment longer, bemused. His first thought was that it was obvious that the orphanage should dedicate more time to the literacy of the orphans. His lip twisted in a wry smile and he started to hold the page to the flame.

He paused and set it on the table instead. There was something strangely endearing about the drawing despite the fact that it had no practical use, and it seemed inappropriate to destroy it. Next, Javert opened the box. Inside the box was a fragile star made out of papier mache and painted gold. He recognized it as the one that adorned the pitiful Christmas tree in the orphanage. He took it out and examined it: it seemed far too delicate for his large hands. He quickly set it back in the box and closed the lid. The gift had filled him with a sudden and inexplicable warmth, although the purpose of it still escaped him. He also felt shamed by it—even a bit unworthy.

His childhood had been full of bitter disappointments and more beatings than kindness. His mother would often see him sitting close to the window, arms hugging his thin knees as he watched the stars. When she asked him why he spent so much time looking at them, Javert replied that anyone could look at the stars. They were the one constant in his life. His father was sent to the galleys, his mother grew ill and died, his ill-tempered guardian beat him, and his schoolmates tormented him. The stars had always been there and would never leave him; and as long as he could see their light, Javert knew he could survive anything. He knew his mother loved him, even if she never had anything except her love to give. He remembered her telling him when he was 3 years old that if she could, she would catch a falling star and give it to Javert so it would shine only for him.  Javert carried the box into his bedroom and set it beside his bed on the nightstand. He opened the top and as he lay on his side, he watched the moonlight streaming through the open window reflect off the gold paint, making his star shine in the darkness.


End file.
